Royal Family of Eryn Galen
by Celridel
Summary: Drabbles concerning the King and Queen of the Greenwood and their children. Set after the Battle of Dagorlad, once Thranduil is King.
1. Wedding Dance

Laurëlasse turned with light steps. Her pale gold hair glistened as spun silver under the stars as she spun, a wild light in her green eyes. Thranduil took her slender hand, and together they danced, spinning on quick feet, in a nimble, moon lit harmony. Thranduil paused at last, gathering her in her arms. "Marriage suits you, my love. You are fairer than before." he said tenderly, smoothing back the thick tresses.

She smiled at him, her eyes glistened. "I have only been wed for a few hours, my Lord."

He brought his forehead down till it touched hers. "I am not your Lord. I am your husband."

She laughed, wrapping white arms around his neck. "I love you, Thranduil."

He kissed her. "I love you."

The stars shone brightly that night.


	2. Morning Rose

Many thanks to Alku04 for inspiring that little bit about the rose with her story ' _Sapphire Skies and Emerald Trees'_

Morning came soft and fair, a summer breeze clear with the rose-colored dawn. Laurëlasse's silken blue garment fluttered as she perched in an oak tree. Her hair fluttered, golden as a sun-struck cloud. There was a rustle in the green leaves and Thranduil sat beside her. "Good morning."

"Good morning."

There was a stillness. Birds sang close by. Thranduil gently took her hand in his own, caressing it. "Why are you so silent? That is rare indeed for you."

Laurëlasse laughed. "A new life has begun for me. As a new-born child is silent, so I am silent, for my eyes see a different world than they did when I was a maiden, instead of the Queen of Eryn Galen."

"Is it more beautiful?" asked Thranduil, a little glint of worry in his blue eyes.

"Much more," she assured him, nestling into his broad chest. He smiled, running a hand through the river of golden hair. "I found this for you."

She took the rose. "Thank you." Her voice trailed off to a dreamy whisper. "I don't understand."

He grinned, leaning his head against the tree. "Don't understand what?"

She was staring at the flower, childish intentness on her face. "Why is a rose a rose, Thranduil? Why is this one crimson instead of white? Why are the petals so soft, like delicate gossamer web, finer than our finest silk? Why does it bloom only at dawn's light, instead of when the silver moonbeams touch it?"

Thranduil began to braid her hair. "Yavanna fashioned the red rose from a crimson dawn cloud. The clouds are smooth and soft like it's petals. And so here it is, beautiful, opening only when the dew comes from the heavens and the morning clouds come into the sky, responding to its kin."

Laurëlasse giggled. "And it's fragrance?"

Thranduil's eyes widened. "I-I don't know."

Laurëlasse looked up. "I don't know either."

"Sometimes, mysteries can be beautiful. Where would we be if we knew all?" returned Thranduil, quickly recovered.


	3. The Stream

Laurëlasse sat by the brook, dangling her feet in the clear, cool water, her hands resting on her belly, her head resting on Thranduil's sturdy shoulder.

"Thranduil?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know?"

"Know what?" he asked looking down at her.

"It is said that the Eldar know…." said Laurëlasse, hesitating.

"Know what?" he repeated.

Laurëlasse looked up, seeing the sparkle in his blue eyes. "Thranduil, you torment me!"

He laughed, stroking her hair. "Yes, I know."

"And are you…..pleased?"

Thranduil stood, raising her up. "Am I pleased? No.."

Laurëlasse's emerald eyes widened.

"But I am thrilled!" He picked her up. "Oh Vairë only knows how happy I am!"

Laurëlasse laughed, clinging to his neck, tears in her eyes. "Oh Thranduil…"

He held her tight. "Hush, hush, love. Why do you weep?"

"Because….." She swallowed, holding on tighter to him. "Because I am so happy."

Thranduil paused, frowning slightly. "I-I see."

Laurëlasse sat back down, holding his hand. "So soon! So soon, we will sit here, and have a child in our arms."

Thranduil nodded eagerly. "Yes indeed! And to watch him grow for an infant in our arms to a child playing in this stream to an Elf who can leap across it with a single bound. So much in the future, love, so much!"

Laurëlasse smiled. "Let us not look to far ahead. He has a long time to grow. For now, I just see him as a little baby, holding out his tiny, perfect hands to catch the dappled sunlight as it comes through the leaves."

Her husband sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her slender shoulder, and together they stared into the dancing stream, as if it was the River of Time, and they looked into the ripples and saw not their own reflections, but their child.


	4. Names

Winter was outside, swirling snow dancing over the white trees, whose icy branches formed intricate patterns. Laurëlasse sat by the fire. "Calarien?"

"What if it is a man-child?" persisted Thranduil.

Laurëlasse rolled her eyes. "Oropher then, after your father."

"No. This newly born will have a new name. Legolas?"

Laurëlasse frowned. "Where did you get that name?"

"Your name means golden leaves, yet your eyes are green." Thranduil smiled fondly in the sparkling emerald orbs. "So Greenleaf."

Laurëlasse smiled, a blush lighting her fair face. "Legolas Greenleaf. That is lovely, but what if it is a maid-child?"

"Then we will have Greenleaf and Goldleaf."

"And?" asked Laurëlasse with a slight frown.

"It could be twins." protested Thranduil.

"I don't know if I am ready for twins…."

He took her hands comfortingly. "It won't be you. It will be us."


	5. Our Children

The Elven-King stood outside the oaken door, his jaw clenched as he heard Laurëlasse's whimpers and occasionally screams. His hand tight was on the latch, and he stumbled as the door was pulled open. The _elleth_ blinked to see her King, but she did not stammer. "My Lord."

"Yes?" said Thranduil tersely, struggling to maintain some facade of courtesy.

Her hazel eyes were not deceived. "Your wife is well, and….."

He dashed past her. "Yes! Yes, thank you!"

She shook her head kindly and closed the door. Laurëlasse was laying on the bed, dressed in a white robe, her golden hair damp and in disarray, her face pale, but her green eyes were shining. "You were right, Thranduil."

He knelt beside the bed, taking her hands tenderly. "Right about what?"

A weak smile graced in her face. "Twins."

His eyes lit up. "Twins?" She nodded, motioning to the other side of the bed. Thranduil crossed, and gazed down at the two twin faces, angelic, eyes as blue as his own, swaddled in soft white. One gave a little whimper, and he picked up the bundle gently. "Is it a man-child or a maid-child?" he asked.

Laurëlasse took a deep breath. "Look at their wrists."

Thranduil, gingerly holding the infant, drew out the tiny hand. Upon the miniature wrist was gently tied a smooth ribbon. "This band is violet."

"Mallas." replied Laurëlasse, pushing golden wisps from her eyes.

"Goldleaf." breathed Thranduil. He laid her softly down and took up the other one. "And this is Legolas?"

She nodded, and Thranduil looked up. "Who is the eldest?"

"Greenleaf."

He gently kissed both innocent, downy heads and laid them back on the bed. "And how do you fare, my lovely wife?" he asked tenderly.

She smiled wryly. "I am as well as can be. Tired, though, and I ache."

Thranduil sat down beside her once more. "Can you sleep?"

Laurëlasse laughed a little. "Nay. It's a sad irony, for am I am too weak to move, and yet I cannot rest. All the nurturing instincts of my fore-mothers have come to me once I saw their blessed little faces."

"You know I will care for them."

Laurëlasse frowned. "Thranduil…"

He sighed, arching a golden eyebrow. "Yes?"

"You cannot give them all they need, my love, as much as you may try. Come, come. May Esté bless me with her peace, and I will rest for a while, but when the babes awake, let me care for them."

The Elven-King nodded solemnly and sat upon the bed, watching the spring starlight flood through the window that was open to the sky, coming in silver-white beams to rest upon the faces of the three he loved above all jewels of stony caverns.

He leapt from his thoughts as a little whimper broke the profound stillness of the night, and hastily he picked up Legolas. "Hush, hush, little one." he soothed. "Do not awake your mother."

Wide blue eyes regarded raptly him as he gazed back. A little hand was raised, the tiny fingers uncurling. Thranduil gently took it in his own. "How is it?" he asked.

There was no answer. Legolas blinked. "Your first night. How was it?" Thranduil hastily amended. "Are the stars very beautiful?" he asked at last, after a silence.

Legolas gurgled, and Thranduil laid him so he could look up to the window. He gazed, enraptured for some small time, and then he whimpered. Thranduil frowned. "What's wrong? Do you not like the stars?"

The whimpers grew more insistent, and then Legolas began to wail. Laurëlasse bolted upright, brushing the wild locks from her face. She smiled at the sight of her husband, who was staring bewildered at the flailing infant. "Thank you, love." She took the child. "Shush, shush, my little Greenleaf."

The King of Eryn Galen looked terrified. "D-did I hurt him?"

Laurëlasse giggled, sitting forward to lay a hand on his shoulder. "No. He was hungry, that is all."

He swallowed. "Are you sure? Did I do anything to him?"

"I am sure." soothed his wife. "I'll give him back to you when he's done feeding."


	6. Baby steps

Thranduil sat cross-legged on the floor. "Come on, Legolas." he cooed, urging the little child on. Legolas lay stomach-first on the floor, his golden head raised to stare at his father. "You can do it." the King smiled. Legolas gurgled, his eyes wide and blue.

Legolas's brow furrowed in concentration, and slowly he raised himself up. Hesitating, he pulled his legs under him, and began to crawl, stumbling and slow, and Thranduil's face lit up, pride glowing in his eyes. "Good! Good! Well done, Legolas!"

He caught the child in his arms. "You are growing up. Soon you'll be walking." Legolas giggled, reaching out tiny hands to grasp at Thranduil's golden tresses. The King gently removed his hair from Legolas's grasp. "No, no. Come on. Is it not time for your meal?"

Legolas sniffed, and Thranduil carried him to their rooms. Laurëlasse looked up at her beaming husband. "Legolas crawled today!"

She smiled, delighted, as she exchanged Mallas for Legolas. "Oh well done, little one! Did _Ada_ help you?"

Thranduil vehemently denied it. "No, Legolas did it all by himself." He took his daughter, and carried her out, up the winding caverns and into the twilight. It was warm, deep blue and starry, and the sweet scent of summer washed around them. Mallas cooed, holding up out hands to catch the ivy flowers that formed a kind of curtain from the entrance. He gently entangled the flower from the chubby fingers. "You can't eat that, love."

Mallas whimpered, and Thranduil set her on the soft grass, putting her on her back so she could see the stars "There. Your brother can crawl, but can you?"

Mallas gurgled, and then rolled over on to her stomach, seeming content to stare at the gently waving grass. Thranduil smiled slightly and turned to look around him, at his Kingdom, so green and warm, full of flowers and trees, and he felt contented. Life was sweet. His domain was in peace, but most of all he had a family, a precious wife and precious children.

"Aaah." A babyish coo broke into his thoughts, and he saw Mallas wriggling forward to grasp at a flower. He leaned over and took both her and the flower. "It's a violet. You can eat it." he assured, seating the child in his lap. Mallas brought it to her face, and sneezed violently. She threw it down, and began to squirm away. "Are you sure you can't crawl?" urged Thranduil, watching her push herself along. "Your _Nana_ is going to kill me for the stains on your dress."

Mallas gurgled, and continued. Thranduil watched her for a while, and then at last picked her up and carried her inside. Laurëlasse was laying on the bed, Legolas by her side, their eyes closed. Thranduil smiled at the sight, and quietly put Mallas in her night dress. The baby giggled, and Laurëlasse opened her eyes sleepily. "You're back."

He nodded. Mallas lay sleeping in his arms. He lay down beside his wife, putting Mallas on his chest. "Good night, love." whispered the Queen.

Thranduil nodded. "Good night." he murmured.


	7. Dark Dreams

Laurëlasse sat bolt upright, her green eyes wide. Once the panic had subsided in a flowing wave she turned to her children. Mallas lay curled on Thranduil's chest, Legolas was outstretched, his little chest rising and falling. With a fleeting smile, she softly got up and walked out, the stone cold on her bare feet, and stepped out. It was warm outside, and peaceful, the silky cloth of her blue robes shimmering in the moonlight.

The forest was around her, darker than she had remembered it, and yet she drew into it, breathing in the dreamy, musky scent of deep midnight. With silent steps she went through the trees, silent, ancient monoliths of long years. Leaves rustled softly above her golden head, that glinted in the moonlight. She looked up, gazing at the light, that dappled through those gently waving leaves. She drew to a glade. The dewy grass was wet under her feet, and she knelt in wonder. "Ai! Sweet waters of awakening!" she breathed, reaching out a trembling hand. There before her bloomed a rose, golden as sunlight, golden as her sweeping hair. Each petal so delicate, so perfect, and she loved it. And yet a wind was coming, and the rose bent under the gale. She shielded it, trying to protect it, but it was no use. Clouds loomed, darker than the night, and it came with terrible force, in malice bent upon the precious flower. And the flower withered, it's petals bruised, but not yet dead. Laurëlasse stared at it, tears in her eyes, but as she looked up, she perceived it was no longer a storm. The forest was about her, yet not the forest she knew. A breeze came….sharp and cool, and it seemed it was a sea-wind, and the cry of the gulls was about her. And the flower was born up from the breeze, and taken from its stem, and was whirled away, out of her grasp. She dashed after it, growing desperation as it was borne further and further from her grasp. And then she stopped. She was ankle-deep in water. Not stream water. This was salt water. This was the sea! With a little gasp, she gazed at it, swirling about her, white frothed waves. Far out, the flower drifted, and she began to swim after it. But ever it was a little further from her grasp, born out of her hands by a little ripple, and she swam on and on, and began to tire. She could not see the shore, only the vast sea and the vast sky. And still the flower floated on. She began to tire, her arms leaden. Now it was no longer a struggle to get the flower, it was a fight for life. As her golden head sank under, she wondered if she would have the fate of Amroth Elven-Lord. A hand seized her, pulling her from the waters, and she gasped. For an instant she saw a fair face, one that might look like her son when he was grown, but then it was Thranduil, shaking her. "Laurëlasse! Laurëlasse, are you well!" Mallas, her sleep broken into, began to wail.

Laurëlasse sat up, panting. She was lying on the soft bed, husband and children beside her. She nodded, struggling, her heart pounding. "Yes, yes. Thranduil, I am well." he assured her, taking Mallas.

But the dream lingered on.


	8. Pranks

Soft footsteps made Thranduil opened his eyes and he sat up to see the intricately carved door opening softly. In looked two golden heads, furtive blue eyes flitting around. When they landed on him, there was an audible gasp and a scuffle, and then the door slammed closed.

Laurëlasse stirred. "What are they doing now?"

"Nothing good." mumbled Thranduil. Seeing his wife had no intention of getting up, he kissed her forehead and then crept down the hallway. Someone grabbed on to his hand, and he looked down to see Mallas. "Good morning, Ada."  
"Good morning, daughter." he returned. "Where is your brother?"

Mallas paused for a moment, her blue eyes wide with all innocence. "I think 'e's with Galion."

Thranduil winced. Legolas delighted in playing every prank imaginable with the poor Elf, and he did not doubt that one day Galion would break and Eryn Galen might lose its prince. He picked up his pace, and Mallas followed behind. The Elven-King was growing slightly worried at his daughter was smiling. "So, where is Galion?" he asked at last, having arrived at the empty kitchens.

Mallas shrugged. "I don't know."

A shout of rage rang through the silent corridors and Mallas suddenly let go of her father's hand and ran. Thranduil intercepted his butler. "Hold now!" he ordered the disheveled Elf. "What has happened so early in the morn?"

"Your children," snarled Galion, ignoring the fact that he might incur the wrath of his King. "Are the very spawn of Sauron."

Thranduil sighed. "I think that might be a little strong." he said tentatively. "They are simply playful children."

"Playful. Yes, and Carcharoth was playful as a pup as well." snapped the butler. "Pardon me, my Lord, but I have somethings to…attend to."

"Yes, and so do I. I will speak with them, Galion." replied Thranduil, trying to look assuring.

Apparently he failed, for Galion arched an eyebrow before bowing his head and moving off. The Elven King entered his room to find only Laurëlasse. His children were still hiding. "Do you know where they are?" he asked.

Laurëlasse frowned. "No, I thought they were with you."

"They were…..well, one was." said Thranduil wryly.

Laurëlasse stood up. "Then you should know where they are, yes?"

Her husband shook his head. "No."


	9. Bow and Arrow

Laurëlasse looked displeased by this new turn of events. "Ai Thranduil!" she groaned. "Come on then, let us find them. And….have you considered archery? It might distract them from their pranks and keep Galion's mind sound a little longer."

The Elven-King shrugged. "I guess that would be a good idea."

Laurëlasse smiled unpretentiously, and took her husband's hand. "We have to find them first."

"I think we have."

Their children raced down the hall way. Legolas stopped short at the sight of his parents, and Mallas collided heavily into him.

Mallas recovered first, being on top. She scrambled to her feet, and shaking golden curls from her face, smiled bewitchingly. "What is it, Ada?" she asked merrily.

Thranduil helped his son up. "Well, since it seems you two have so much spare time on your hands….."

"We think archery would be a good idea." finished Laurëlasse.

Mallas looked almost interested. Legolas wailed in horror. Thranduil remembered an incident with a bow and an angry Elf that had occurred not long ago. Laurëlasse had remained ignorant of this event. "I hate arrows and I hate bows!" announced his son.

Thranduil sighed. "That's a misfortune, but you have to try…."  
Laurëlasse frowned. "Why do you hate bows?"

"I'll tell you later." said Thranduil sweetly and turned back to his son. "Come on."

Legolas dragged his feet to the courtyard, and brooded in his misery. Mallas danced along, eager for this new thing. Thranduil decided to get her ready first. "Hold the bow like this-no. Other way. The bow string will be the closest to you." He searched for a relatively dull arrow. "This is how you string an arrow, Mallas. Now, pull it back and- Carcharoth, no!"

Mallas innocently put down the bow which she had been pointing at him. "What's wrong?"

Thranduil sighed. "That is a target. That's what you aim at."

"Oh!" chirped his daughter, and picked the bow up again. The arrow fell a foot short. Nothing daunted, Mallas dashed forward to retrieve it, and was occupied enough soon, intent on hitting the center of the target.

Thranduil turned to his son, who was sitting on the pavement, pretending be entranced with stone-work. "Come Legolas, 'tis your turn."

Legolas turned beseeching blue eyes upon his father. "Please Ada! Anything else!"

Thranduil knew young ones were easily impressionable, but surely not to this extent. "Little Greenleaf, you deserved it. He spanked you because you….."

"Used his spear as a torch." sighed Legolas unhappily. "But he didn't have to use his bow!"

"I agree that maybe that was…..too harsh and punishment should not be given in anger, but you destroyed his father's weapon, that had been passed down to him. That was not good, and it is not easily forgiven. Get over your fears now, and take a bow!"

Legolas grudgingly moved over to where the bows hung, and Thranduil helped him select a small, slender one made of aspen wood, nearly identical to Mallas's.

It took far longer for Legolas to get the basics down, and he complained all through it, till at last Thranduil's patience was stretched thin.

Mallas gave a cry of delight and dropped her bow, clapping her hands in glee. "I hit the target, Ada! Legolas, I hit the target! I hit the target!"

Sure enough, an arrow stood quivering on the furthermost ring of the target. This seemed to inspire Legolas, for he progressed rapidly after that. Weeks passed, and still the twins spent hours in the courtyard.

Galion was greatly relieved.


	10. Young Love and Flowers

"Mallas?"

Mallas turned her golden head to look at her brother. He carried, as always now, his bow and quiver. "What?"

Legolas fidgeted. "Umm….will you talk to Nelloth for me, please?"

Mallas blinked, unsure of how to proceed. "What about then?"

Legolas took a deep breath. "Just tell her…just give her these." He thrust a dainty arrangement of flowers into Mallas's hands.

"These are beautiful." She narrowed her eyes at her brother. "You didn't do these, I know that."

Legolas did not even have the grace to look offended. "Nana helped me."

Mallas rolled her eyes. "Ai Legolas! You like Nelloth, not I! Give them to her."

"I tried!" wailed Legolas. "And I just can't!"

Mallas gave him the flowers carefully and then grabbed his other hand and pulled him along. The object of this woe was outside the Halls, sitting on a low branch. Mallas pushed him into Nelloth's view and then scurried inside.

Legolas stood, panicking. Nelloth was watching him curiously, her dark curls tumbling over her face. "Legolas, what ails you?"

He promptly hid the flowers behind his back, and walked up to the tree. "Nothing."

Nelloth hopped down. "Legolas, you're terribly at lying."

Legolas was unaware whether to handle this with a frown or a smile, so he merely kept his face expressionless. "Nelloth…..I….flowers?" She accepted them with a smile, and for the first time something like a blush crossed her face. "Thank you. They are very lovely."

Legolas nodded and fled inside, unaware that his parents had been observing him, unseen. Nelloth skipped off before Thranduil broke down into gales of laughter.

Laurëlasse grinned after her fleeing son. "He takes after you, _melin_."

Thranduil was unable to deny this, so he kissed his wife's golden ringlets. "Not even a decade old, and already entangled."

"It will be fine." insisted Laurëlasse. "They have a bond. Maybe one day, Nelloth will be the Princess."

Thranduil groaned. "She'll need to grow up, and learn to act like royalty."

"And I suppose getting in a leaf fight with your son was acting like royalty?" asked Laurëlasse, an unbidden smile dancing her green eyes.

"Absolutely." insisted Thranduil and kissed her again.


	11. Of Fawns and Kings

"Ada?" A little voice broke into the Wood-King's thoughts and he looked up to see Mallas.

"Yes, golden leaf?"

Mallas smiled at the pet name and climbed into her father's lap. "A-are you well, Ada?"

Thranduil frowned slightly. "Of course I am well."

"Oh. Sometimes you don't seem like it." said Mallas, blue eyes large and trusting as she studied his face. "You don't play with us anymore."

Thranduil winced as his conscience pricked him. As of late he had spent far too much time upon matters of the Kingdom and had neglected his children. It was time to leave aside the throne and the crown, even for an hour. He swung Mallas upon her shoulder, grinning at her giggle of delighted surprise. "Come, let us find Legolas and remedy that!"

They found Legolas more than willing to join them in their tramp out on the woodlands. A child holding onto each hand, Thranduil led them out to a glade away from where courtiers and diplomats could wreak the peace and sat cross-legged on the ground. The sun was setting, but the air was still warm and sweet with the scent of spring.  
"Ada!"

"Yes, Legolas?"

"Look at this!" exclaimed the blonde Elfling, pointing insistently to a clump of leafy brambles. Thranduil came to his side and gazed through the dappling branches and foliage. "It's a fawn." he breathed, reaching out a gentle hand to stroke the baby animal's soft fur. "Where is it's mother?" asked Mallas, peering around him.

"She went to go eat, I think." answered Thranduil. "See, there she comes."

He drew his children back and watched as the doe hesitantly stepped across the clearing and nosed at the fawn. He stood up on trembling legs and slowly following his mother out into the woods again, disappeared.

"Where are they going?" asked Legolas, staring after them.

"Somewhere to rest for the night." replied Thranduil. He held out his hands. "As should you."


	12. History

"I think it is time they train with other weapons than archery." said Laurëlasse, unbraiding her golden hair in front of the mirror. "They are growing swiftly."

Thranduil sighed. It was a hard task to be a King and a father, and raise not only children but royalty skilled in many things.

"How are they progressing on their other studies?" he asked.

"Mallas is doing excellently. Legolas has other interests." said Laurëlasse, remembering what had happened today. "He says history eludes him."

"Tell him he is part of history." groaned Thranduil, sitting down on the bed.

Laurëlasse smiled at her weary husband. " _Melin_ , I know the cares of our kingdom rest mostly on your shoulders, but what if you tell him that? I can care for our realm tomorrow, you can care for our children."

"Sometimes I think you have the harder task." replied the Elven King. Laurëlasse sat down beside him. "But one that is no less noble. Prepare yourself, _melin nin_!"

Thranduil found his children with their heads bent together over the small table, whispering conspiratorially. They both jerked up with rather guilty expressions as they entered, and Mallas crumpled whatever they were doing and hid it.

He tried to ignore the satisfied expression on Legolas's face. "Your _Nana_ is not feeling up to the task of teaching you today, so-"

"She is simply running the Kingdom." said Mallas with an innocent shrug.

"Yes." retorted her father. "Where are you in your history?"

" Of the invention of the _Cirth_." said Legolas.

"Good." Thranduil tried to think of how his _Nana_ had taught him lore? The thought brought back a sharp twinge of pain, and he swallowed. "Who made it?"

"The _Sinda_ Daeron, the minstrel of King Thingol of Doriath. Although the _Cirth_ was mostly replaced by Fëanor's _Tengwar_ , it was adopted by the Dwarven Folk to write down their Khuzdûl language." said Legolas glibly. Mallas had her face hidden behind her book,  
Thranduil blinked. Did not Laurëlasse say Legolas was doing poorly at history? Maybe her expectations were too high. "Ah, yes. Very good. Can you tell me why the Dwarves prefered it?"  
"Because the straight lines were better suited for carving then the curved strokes of the _Tengwar_."

Thranduil cleared his throat. "Legolas."

His son looked up. "Yes?"

"Your _Nana_ told me your history was not progressing. I am conflicted, because you seem to know more than I."

Mallas's face remained curiously hidden. Legolas looked pleased. "Thank you."

"I expect you will continue in this most excellent course." he added, raising an eyebrow.

"Indeed yes." replied Legolas. "After all, I have Mallas to help me."

"And on to other things. I also think you should be skilled in weapons outside of bows. Swords, knives, and the like. As you know, both your mother and I were part of the Guard, and we will teach you, so you may follow in our footsteps."

Mallas looked up in delight, throwing away her book. "By the stars! Thank you! When shall we begin?"

"Tomorrow, I suppose. And mind you, this does not take place of your other studies."


	13. Together, Under Stars

Laurëlasse was sitting on the balustrade, watching the stars that spun and blazed in the night, when she felt a familiar tug upon her thick gold braid, and Thranduil seated himself besides her.

"You look unbearably smug." she said. "How did the lessons go?"

"Quite well. Legolas did very good."

Laurëlasse sighed. "He is playing you, Thranduil. Mallas studied for him, I have no doubt of it."

"History is all very well in its own right." said the Warrior-Lord. "But it need not take up too much time."

"All the Elflings here will wish their mothers thought like their King did." returned Laurëlasse, unable to hide a smile.

Thranduil grinned, leaning back till Laurëlasse half wondered if he would fall over on the balcony. The tree branches were dark, thick with foliage as they waved and whispered in the night breeze, colossal, towering, and yet living.

"By the by," he began slowly. "Legolas is the oldest."

"By a minute or so." returned Laurëlasse.

"So, he will be King."

"Yes. Why?"

Thranduil shrugged, tapping his shoes on the ornate carvings of the balustrade. "Just….wondering. If he will ever be King."

Laurëlasse frowned at him, her chin resting on her steepled hands. "Why should he not?"

"Darkness is growing."

"Darkness is like a tide. It ebbs and it waxes."

"Your words bring no comfort. The tide leads out to the sea. We may defeat the tide for the moment, but never the sea."  
Laurëlasse smiled wryly. "Truth and comfort rarely go hand in hand."

Thranduil laughed faintly. "Alas that that is true. Lies are often the sweetest. On to sweeter things…." His voice trailed off. Laurëlasse raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Such as?"

"How did your day fare?"

"It was…..enlightening." said Laurëlasse with a grimace. "I had not learned till then that it was possible to be so mind-numbingly uninterested. I was literally wearied to tears."

"I told them that they could start training tomorrow." said Thranduil, with a vague wave of his hand.

"Who is teaching them?"

"Thalion, or perhaps Celegwen. I have spoken to them both."

"Thalion? Isn't he the one….?"

"Yes." interrupted Thranduil. "But he is one of our best archers, Legolas must deal with it."

Laurëlasse shook her head with a smile. "Ah well. So it is."

"Indeed."

"The stars are very bright tonight."

Thranduil smiled. "Yes, they are."


	14. Begetting Day

**Guest Reviewers ~**

 _TaurielGurl: Thank you for reviewing! Mm, I'm sorry, but Tauriel is just, for me, a heresy to the Tolkien world, so I won't be writing about her anytime soon. Thanks again!_

"You're dead." said Mallas triumphantly.

Legolas got up, rubbing his side. "I'm always dead." he muttered testily.

"That's because you always swing from the shoulder, Legolas, but-"

"It feels stronger that way." complained the Princeling, sticking the point of his wooden sword in the earth.

"It doesn't take a lot of strength. Living things are fragile creatures." said Mallas sweetly. "But it gives you more agility if you can swing from the arm, from the wrist. That's why I always win. I don't need strength, I need suppleness."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Since when are you the Master Sword-Elf?"

"Since I started listening to Celegwen."

"Well, I don't like swords anyway." announced Legolas. "Bows, yes….knives, yes."

Mallas swung her sword around suddenly, the point to her brother's chest, and then dropped it. "These aren't very well balanced. When _Adar_ lets us get real swords, they will be far better."

"Will they be?" asked a voice on the edge of the glade.  
"Oh yes, they will be, _Naneth_." they assured Laurëlasse in unison.

Laurëlasse laughed and sat down on the leaf-covered floor. "Well, maybe. Do you two know what day it is?"

Legolas rubbed the back of his neck in puzzlement. "No?"

The Queen smiled, watching the light come in dappled patterns to play on her children's' faces. "Mallas? Any guesses?"

Mallas shrugged. "No."

"No one?" Laurëlasse spread her hands in despair. "What a hopeless pair you are! Thirty years to this day and neither of you know your begetting day."

"Oh." The two looked at each other. "Oh."

Laurëlasse stood up, brushing off her skirts. "Well? Do you want to come with me and see the gifts?"

Legolas tagged along after his mother. "But _Naneth_ , why did we have to practice if it was a begetting day?"

"I had to get you out _somehow_ to prepare everything." laughed the Queen.

"What is it?" asked Mallas eagerly.

"You'll have to see, little Leaf."


	15. Of Swords and Streams

No, Legolas." Thranduil's voice was exasperated. "You are still swinging from the shoulder."

Legolas sighed disconsolately. He had not yet acquired a feel for the slender swords they had been given on their begetting day. "I told you, Adar. Swinging from my wrist...it isn't strong enough."

"Not strength, Green Leaf. Not as much as skill. Swing from the wrist! See?" Thranduil picked up the sword and tossed it back to his son. "You don't have as much control over your blade, and far less dexterity."

The metallic scraping sounded again, ringing in the courtyard, over which green-foliaged trees peered and rustled in far more natural tones.

Disarmed for the last time, Legolas sheathed his sword and frustration and mumbled. "Thank you, Adar, for the lesson."

Thranduil sheathed his own sword. "You are very welcome, _ion nìn_. Wait! Where are you heading?"

Legolas nodded towards the palace, his blue eyes still dejected.

"Inside? On such a day? No _Sinda_ would do that. Come with me."

The ornately carved gates, with their fluted bars, were opened for the King and his son, and they wandered out into the forest. Strong branches interlaced overhead, in which were small flets. Few cottages stood on the woodland floor, for the Wood Elves preferred the open air.

Leaves rustled and birdsong resounded round them. Occasionally, from above or beside, laughter and voices sounded.

"Do you know what kind of bird that is?" Asked Thranduil at last, as a young fledgling flapped awkwardly past, its wings streaked with silver.

"Yes. It's a celaw, noted because of its rasping call and silver speckled wings." muttered Legolas.

"I did not ask you to recite something from a dusty book. So," Thranduil continued abruptly. "Why so despondent? All because of swords?"

Legolas shrugged. "I guess. I just don't like swords... But that's all you see, Adar!" He burst out. "You never see me at archery or knife-throwing and so you think that I'm-I'm no good at weapons."

"I believe what Naneth says about you, that you are doing well beyond your years." Returned Thranduil serenely. "But I work with you on that particular subject the most because you need it the most. Are we agreed?"

"Yeeeees." Said Legolas hesitantly. "But you watch Mallas with her knives!"

"Mallas needs the most instruction on that point. But I was talking about you, not your sister. Are you really sulking because you lost?"

Legolas blinked. "No. Of course not."

"Then why are you?"

"Because you make me do them."

"Legolas, look at me."

Obediently, the Elfling Prince met his Father's eyes. Thranduil was grave. "We live in times where darkness grows, my son. And as a part of the Greenwood, it is your duty to protect it. That is why we make you train so hard. So you can play your part as a wise Prince and a great warrior."

"What darkness?" Asked Legolas incredulously, nonetheless impressed deeply by his Father's words.

"It has been silent for many years." Thranduil was not looking at his son; he was gazing out into the trees, noble oak, sturdy elm, slender beech. "Such is a spider. It waits till the fly is in its web, and then it pounces. I fear even now, we of the Free People are entangling ourselves in the gossamer mesh of peace, only to find it the iron chains of captivity. Trust me, Legolas, the time will come when you must use your sword very soon."

Legolas stared at the moss-covered trunks of trees, kicking at the brown leaves that made the first layer of the forest ground.

A squirrel chattered in the hazel thicket, its red tail bushy. He followed it with his eyes till it ventured too close to a jay's nest. The bird sprang up in a fury, and she and her mate drove the intruder away from their nestlings.

The ethereal cooing of the dove blended into silence.

Finally, he murmured. "Yes, Adar."

Thranduil smiled slightly. He could see that his son found it hard to believe: with all the signs of growth and beauty below them, he might find it hard to believe too if he had not lived through many battles with the Dark Lord.

The walked in the silence, a wren's joyful twitter the loudest sound. Below them, in a small ravine, ran a stream, all fringed with hemlocks, dark against the paler green of the trees. Slanting rays of the sun pierced the patches of mist and touched the bank where they walked with silver and gold. Neither spoke as they passed through the curtain after curtain of shimmering light. The cool air of the gorge clung to the shadowed patches, laden with the scent of wet rocks and clear water.

Legolas peered over the edge, watching the water cascade over its stony bed. Thranduil joined him. The Elfling held on to a sapling yew, its bark still green, its spreading branches young and fragile. "This would make a good bow." He announced at last.

"Nay. Yew saplings dry out too fast. A young hickory, now that would make a fine bow."

"Not if you cared for it!" Protested Legolas. "See how easily it bends!" To prove his words, he took hold of the sapling with both hands and swung out over the sheer edge of the gorge. There was an ominous crack, and the green bark snapped to show the white wood beneath. Thranduil hastily grabbed his son's tunic and pulled him back on to solid ground. "Yes, it would make a fine bow. It bends quite well." He said, gesturing to the sapling which was snapped in half. "But it's strength is another matter."

Legolas flushed, rubbing his scratched hands together. "I guess so." He patted the slender stem of the tree remorsefully. "I didn't mean to break it."

Thranduil nodded gravely. "It knows."

"Thalion says the Ents will eat you if you break a tree without good use for it," said Legolas brightly.

"You sound too cheerful for someone who is about to be supper," answered Thranduil.

Legolas shrugged. "They haven't eaten me yet, so why not?"


	16. Back in Memories

Legolas returned through the gates, a little skip in his walk. The massive, gold-gilded doors opened for him and he was in the cool shade of the palace. He dashed round the mighty pillars, searching for his twin.

"Mallas! Mallas! Where are you?"

He skidded round the corner. "Good morning, Celegwen."

The Silvan Elf nodded, her dark hair bound in a tight plait around her head. She was tall and upright, with a handsome face and sharp eyes. A firm teacher, a fierce warrior, a loyal subject, she was renowned for all these things and for her skill with the knives, and her epessë, _Sírodel_ , often rang loud. "Good morning, Prince. Are you ready?"

"Yes. Do you know where Mallas is, though?"

"She ran past a few minutes ago, saying her father wanted her. Now may we go?" Celegwen's voice held some annoyance: she was also renowned for a quick temper and a sharp tongue.

Legolas started walking, struggling to keep up with the quick pace of his teacher. "Celegwen? Do you think that we're in danger? That we're going to find this peace deadly?"

Celegwen's smile was grim. "Yes. You have been talking to your father again, have you not?"

Legolas nodded. "Aye. Do you agree?"

There was a brief silence, broken only by the sharp, rhythmic click of Celegwen's boots, and intermittent patter of Legolas' soft shoes. "Yes, I do." She said at last, opening a side door that led to the training grounds. " But I also believe Eryn Galen will be the last Elvish stronghold left standing." She paused, gazing out at the rustling sea of green.

"Why?" asked Legolas curiously, panting slightly.

Celegwen's boots sounded again on the steps. "Because we know how to fight. In Lothloríen and Imladris, they are protected, they forget how too fight."

"Protected by what?"

"I know not. But there is strong magic possessed by their rulers, else wise they would not allow their swords to rust and their warriors become slow, like the _tüg_ sons of men." She ended contemptuously. "We have no magic here, but we may have need it. Valor may no longer be enough. Shadows... They cannot be pierced by arrows, nor wounded by spears. Their servants can, but not they." She turned to look at Legolas, who had found his knives in the chest full of such armaments. "If we did lay magic, it would be on the River south of us which would indeed protect our border."

Legolas's merry face was solemn. "So that is why we train so hard."

"We will never grow soft." Said Celegwen, her voice hard and her eyes bright. " _Less wise,_ they call us, _and more dangerous._ Less wise!" She snorted. "I think not, but we are dangerous! Far more dangerous, and we are skilled in every art of war. And so you will be, and all of your generation, while I draw breath! Damned Noldor!" She snarled under her breath, unmeant for young ears but Legolas heard it all the same. "Backstabbing, treacherous, blood stained people. They look down on we of the _Laiquendi_ , but we kill not our kin, nor turn on our kind, even the Noldor."

Legolas little understood her words, he blinked, and to break her from her thoughts, threw his knife. Celegwen snapped back to the present, but youthful curiosity drove him to ask. "Why do you hate the Noldor so?"

"For the same reason your Queen mother does." said Celegwen bitterly. "Our-"

"Celegwen! That is enough!" Despite its distance, Thranduil's voice was sharp and biting.

Celegwen's jaw tensed, but she continued in silence. She was very different from her stern self that day, she was dreamy and her eyes were sad. Knives hit or missed the target, and she remained mute, sitting with one leg drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around it. Eventually Legolas left his practice, and slinging his knives back into the chest, wandered over where his father and sister were. They had finished their sword fight, and were cleaning off their weapons. Thranduil nodded to his son, but Mallas, intent on her beloved sword, did not heed him till Thranduil stretched his legs and rose, mentioning he had some business.

Then she looked up. "I heard you talking, Legolas."

He shrugged. "What of it?"

"What do you think happened?" Mallas's voice was low, as she rubbed her rag back and forth on the gleaming blade.

An afternoon breeze brought the scent of warm leaves and sun, as they sat under the shade of an overhanging beech, that towered above the courtyard wall.

" _Naneth_ had kin in Doriath or Sirion." said Mallas firmly. "That much is clear."

"But _Naneth_ doesn't hate." answered Legolas, his brows drawn together. For him, his mother was a symbol of all gentle and kind. She never seemed to be angry, never a harsh word. For Naneth to _hate_ seemed something beyond her.

"Maybe she does." said Mallas with a shrug.

Legolas' voice was firm. "Let's just leave it at that."

 _tüg-_ fat

 _Sírodel_ -Knife Lady


	17. Anniversary

Laurëlasse rested her hands idle in her lap, watching the elegantly drooping willows, with their slender strands of grey-green leaves.

Down below her, the fern-clad hill ran down to the stream, and the afternoon sunshine lit the broad sweep of the shallows with a thousand sparkling lights. The willows leaned over it, the rough grey bark adorned with burls and lichen.

A small bird sang the call beginning with a quick, melodious chatter to rise into a silvery peal.

Laurëlasse listened in silence, almost unconsciously hugging her knees to her chest. Thirty-three years to this day, she had become both a bride and a Queen. The fifth day of the first week of July. She stood up slowly, the timbers smooth below her bare feet. She had her duties to do.

The palace was dark and cold after the warm brightness of outside, and after settling a minor dispute between two guards, went out to see her family.

Out on the fringes of the forest, a little past the gates, Mallas was struggling to climb a tree whose first branch began an ell above her head. Legolas was laying on his back, his feet propped against the tree, throwing acorns at an impudent squirrel, who chattered angrily.

Laurëlasse stepped forward to assist her daughter, but Mallas had given up, rubbing her scratched hands and knees.

"Do you want help, melind?"

Mallas shrugged. "No, Naneth. The squirrel has a nest up there."

Legolas had suddenly sat up, and began crawling around the great, sprawling trunk of the tree, scrabbling amongst the roots.

Laurëlasse sat down with her daughter. "How did your lesson go?"

Mallas grinned, rubbing her palms on her leggings. "Pretty good. I think I did take Adar by surprise."

Laurëlasse arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Really! How is that?"

"A dagger," said Mallas blandly. "Of course, I think it will work better when I am a little taller."

Laurëlasse hid her laughter. Her warrior daughter and her prankster son. How strange they could be so different. "Well done, _tithen iel_."

"Yes," added Legolas maliciously, crawling back to them, his right hand in a fist. "And here's a _tithen ungol_." He dropped a large spider in her lap, a grin lighting up his face. Mallas swatted it away and ignored him, much to Legolas's utter disappointment. He sat down dejectedly and resumed throwing acorns at the tree, letting them bounce off he could catch them.

"Naneth, are you having a festival today?" asked Mallas suddenly.

Laurëlasse frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

"You got married today, wouldn't you do that?"

The Queen laughed softly. "We have never done it before, except between ourselves."

"Oh." Mallas looked at Legolas, but he paid no attention to her glance.

Laurëlasse watched her children. "Is there something you wish to tell me, _hênnath_?"

"No," said Legolas brightly. "Except _Adar_ is over there."

Slightly confused, Laurëlasse went to greet her husband, leaving the twins alone.

'I told you not to ask her!" hissed the eldest.

Mallas crossed her arms and glared at him. "I did not, as you may recall."

"But you were going to."

"Yes, I was," answered Mallas angrily. "And you have no right to stop me."

"Look, I want to know too! But think how awful that must have been for Naneth, and try to be a little kinder."

Mallas sighed and subsided. "Very well."


	18. Coming Winter

"Legolas!" hissed Mallas, shaking her brother's shoulder with such vigor that Legolas nearly slid out of the tree in which they were perched. "There's a stag."

A noble beast had entered the clearing, its branching antlers spiking upwards, showing that it had lived an eternity in the eyes of its kin.

But now it seemed skittish as it pawed the ground, hesitantly bowing its great head to graze on the frost-sweetened grass.

The sharp air of the autumn wind whirled past them, tugging at yellowed leaves and pulling at their golden hair.

The stag lifted its head sharply, sensing something, and then, without warning, leapt swiftly away, twigs cracking under it's hooves.

Mallas looked around, puzzled as to what could have frightened the stag.

Colors surrounded them, dampened with cold morning dew, russet and umber and yellow, and the crisp air brought with it the tang of wild apples and wood smoke. "What do you think it was?" asked Legolas softly, pulling himself to a better vantage point.

Mallas's brow was knit as she sat back against the bough, hiding her hands in her cloak. "I do not know. Us...maybe? The wind was coming from behind; it smelled us."

Legolas snorted incredulously, and Mallas sighed. "Deer are more skittish these days, _muindor_. Everything is..." Her voice trailed into hesitating silence, her blue eyes filled with a sudden yearning.

"I cannot argue with that. Did you see how dark the flock of kingfishers were?" asked Legolas. "They were flying south yesterday." he added, at Mallas's look.

"No, I did not." she replied, slipping easily down the tree to land in a thick carpet of pine needles. That area of the forest was mostly pine, but ahead a tangled thicket of yew and hickory loomed. Their footsteps crunched on the brittle grass as they walked ahead, their shoes soaked with dew.

Straggling beams of pallid sunshine tried to force their way through the tightly interwoven copse, as the twins pushed their way through.

There was silence as they walked , chilled and damp. The flets that lay in the spreading trees were mostly deserted, for the autumn was bitterer was remembered for a long time.

"Winter will be coming soon." said Legolas, as the mournful call of a late bird sounded in the bleak woods.

Mallas nodded her head in glooomy assent, idly pulling herself up on a thick hickory branch to drop down on the other side.

Yes, winter was coming, she thought as she looked round her woodland home. And something colder than the frigid season. Something darker.


	19. Autumn's Defeat

Frost was crunching under her feet, the ice-frozen grass breaking beneath her light tread. Laurëlasse paused for a moment, to blow on her ungloved hands in an attempt to warm them, but her breath rose white and chill in the grey air.

There was no doubt. Though it was only _Narbeleth_ , it was Autumn's defeat. Winter had twined its shivering white coils smoothly around the earth; the grip especially tight here in Eryn Galen. Already, the first snowflake was drifting to the earth, past the dark and iceclad boughes that rose vaulted above her, to meet in tangled shoots.

Down, down it drifted, to land in the bright gold of her hair. Tears came unbidden to her eyes, as she ran her hand down the rough bark of an old ash tree.

A sense of unknowing doom clenched her stomach, as the woodland came before her, blurred to shapeless darkness, the stark contrast of black and white melding into a cold and terrible grey.

Winter was coming...and with it this forest would change. Already the boughs rose above her, unfriendly and uninviting.

Laurëlasse blinked swiftly, and then raised her eyes to the frigid skies, and her plaintive whisper resounded in the silence. "Please, Lady of the Woodlands, give me children trees...with arms to receive them."


	20. Ñoldor Ambassadors

Snow drifted listlessly down to land on swiftly deepening drifts. A pale sun glinted with a sickly light through thick grey clouds as it journeyed slowly west.

"Damn them!" Thranduil's sudden shout brought Laurëlasse and scattered servants. The golden-haired Queen snatched up the paper before her husband could destroy it in a fit of rage, briefly looking over it. Her tone was calm. "The Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían request if they may visit the Woodland Halls, aye? They do so most courteously, you must admit."

"Damn them," repeated Thranduil in cold wrath, his grip quivering on the hilt of his dagger.

"Yes, my love, so you said." soothed Laurëlasse, gripping his brawny shoulder. "I shall reply at once."

"And tell them what!"

Her smile held a hint of condescension, and the ornate dagger handle trembled in the King's hands. "That it would be an honor if they would come."

"I'll have no Queen of mine mewling at their feet!"

"That is well, for you'll see no Queen of the Greenwood mewling at the feet of any. It is called courtesy, Thranduil, and it seems a notion most unfamiliar to you," replied Laurëlasse coolly. "We love the Noldõr equally well, but this is for our realm's best interests. Imladris, and by marriage, Lorìen, are two of the four Elven strongholds and without a doubt the strongest. And days grow dark. We cannot cast aside potential allies."

"Let me show you I can." gritted the King. "Allies? They murdered Elves. Who can now trust them?"

"We need to trust them only enough to make a bond of protection."

"Protection? You will risk the Woodlands for the uncertain protection of the Noldõr?!" shouted Thranduil, in such anger as he had rarely shown for many years.

Laurëlasse faced him, her tone flat. "Yes." She softened, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Thranduil.."

He shrugged her off. "Do as you wish."


	21. Potentially Befriending the Foe

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting," said Mallas, without looking at her twin.

"They will not be here for several hours," pointed out Legolas, joining her on the floor.

"I am prepared for anything," she replied lightly. Shrugging off her leather vest, she tossed it to Legolas. It contained several pouches, each holding a certain weapon.

He tossed it back to her and she shrugged it over the silk grey tunic she wore. "You are always suspicious."

"Maedhros attacked during a festival. Why should not his kind attack during a truce?" remarked Mallas, leaning back on her hands. "Never mind. If nothing happens, no one will know. But I dearly hope I did not go to all that trouble for naught."

"I swear you are battle-crazed," answered Legolas cheerfully. "Perhaps their sons will invite us a tourney of sorts."

"Maybe," said Mallas hopefully. "Are they skilled, do you think? Enough to be worthy of their challenge?"

"Not to me!" laughed Legolas. Mallas sighed, rising. "I am twice as skilled as you with weapons."

"And I with words," retorted her brother.

"Yes, perhaps. You can prattle on without a vestige of wit, of course." Impatient already, she drew a slender knife from her hiding place and began tossing it in the air.

"Mallas, do you not think that might be a breach of trust? To conceal weapons?" asked Legolas at last.

The knife clattered to the stone floor in Mallas's astonishment. "I will not use them unless I need too."

"Of course, of course, but there is an unspoken agreement of weaponless truce."

"I was never privy to the agreement, and so am breaking no oath," she argued.

Legolas frowned at her. "Maybe you can befriend Arwen," he said, hoping to distract her enough to get her in a better temper.

"Ha!" she answered contemptuously. "What shall I do with a brat who was renowned for her beauty before she could lift a knife?"

"Maybe you underestimate her," replied Legolas mildly.

"Maybe," she answered doubtfully.


	22. All of A Kind

Gates opened. They could feel the tremors in the ground as the drawbridge fell to the earth, and they heard a cavalcade of horses passing through into the underground Kingdom of the Woodland Realm.

Laurëlasse glanced at her husband. He had been terse and silent since their dispute, but Laurëlasse was sure she was in the right. Touching Thranduil's hand, she tilted her head towards the entrance and together they went out to welcome their guests, who had not been seen by the King and Queen since the War of the Last Alliance.

Standing at the entrance, made by two trees that reached over to entangle their branches, they found their foes.

The sons of Imladris were taller than their parents, but their daughter came to the height of her mother's shoulder.

Laurëlasse stepped forward to welcome them, the green silk of her wide-sleeved dress rustling as she exchanged an embrace with Celebrían and smiled warmly at her children.

"You look very well," she said, leading Celebrían into the corridor.

Celebrían smiled. "Yes, I think that motherhood may suit you. But I hear you have also been blessed doubly."

"Indeed. The Lasgalen twins. However, I do not know where they are at present," replied Laurëlasse remorsefully. She knew very well where they were.

Behind her, she heard the low greetings of Elrond and Thranduil, who had remained in the doorway. One of the sons and the daughter had followed their mother in.

Torches flickered warmly as they were led into the dining hall. To her surprise, her children were already seated, but they rose politely and came forward.

In height, Legolas and Mallas were smaller than even Arwen, and this was not only because of the age difference. Adding to their outward differences, their silver-blonde hair was a stark contrast to the jetty braids that Elrohir and Arwen wore.

Laurëlasse introduced her twins. Legolas bowed to Arwen and offered her his seat, which she accepted with gracious reserve.

Elrohir stepped forward to seat Mallas, who stood looking at him with chilly displeasure, deliberately misinterpreting the courteous gesture. "Please, take mine."

His hands gripped the ornately carved back of the oak chair, although he smiled pleasantly. "Nay. I will not be seated until your good mother and mine are."

Mallas shrugged her shoulders. "Very well."

Laurëlasse drew in a breath to calm herself and gestured warmly to the silver-haired Lady. "Please, do take your son's advice."

She sat in one of the two chairs that stood at the head of the table, and Celebrían settled herself on the right.

There was a tense silence. The few attempts that the two Queens made at discussion died away, and Legolas's gallant attempts to make Arwen smile were useless.

Folding her hands in her lap, Laurëlasse studied the new faces ringed around her table and prayed for Thranduil's diplomacy.

Arwen was younger than she had thought, and Laurëlasse quickly perceived that she was unsurpassable in loveliness. But she seemed also a naturally aloof and retiring maiden, although this was augmented by the slight fear of being surrounded by strangers.

Elrohir remained standing. He had his hair plaited untidily into a single, thick braid. His eyes were gray, his face strong, with his father's determined jaw, and his mother's eyes. He had no fear, his pose was bold.

Celebrían appeared relaxed, effortlessly graceful. Her silver hair was coiled thickly at the nape of her neck, and her eyes were an innocent blue, though they held a steely glint. She bore little resemblance to either her mother or father, at least as Laurëlasse had remembered them. The Silver Lady had a face sweetly beautiful, but she had a cunning mind and was both dangerously intelligent and fearless.

They were joined by Elladan soon, and behind him came Thranduil and Elrond.

Elrond had not changed much since she had last seen him. He was as fair as befitted a child of Lúthien, but although as knowledgeable as his wife, Laurëlasse judged him gentler in temperament.

She smiled welcomingly and leaned forward as Thranduil conducted him and his son to chairs and then sat down beside her.


	23. Diplomacy

Chapter 22: Diplomacy

Food was brought to them, red wine and pheasant, the apples and grapes of the autumn, venison and cheeses made from doe milk.

Elrohir, sitting the closest to Mallas, offered to serve her.

Laurëlasse glanced briefly towards her daughter and raised one eyebrow meaningfully, before returning to her conversation with Elrond.

Elrohir stood, his hand on the serving utensil. Mallas offered up her plate.

"This will suit you?" he asked, laying a tender slice of venison on the platter.

"Oh yes, thank you," she replied stiffly.

He was ill at ease, obvious noting the Princess's discomfort and undetermined as for whether he should relinquish the plate or finish what he had begun.

Finally, he handed the plate back to Mallas and served himself. The Princess relaxed visibly, going so far as to smile at him.

Down the table, Legolas stood up to serve Arwen. "Pheasant, Arwen?"

A shy smile shone softly on Arwen's face. "Please and many thanks."

"Anything else?"

"A little of all, please."

Legolas inclined his head graciously and performed the task.

Once they were served, Laurëlasse began her task. "How was your journey?"

Celebrían smiled. "It was most pleasing. Somewhat cold, but those are the prices we must pay for your wonderful hospitality. " She paused, glancing up towards the etched wall-reliefs and engaged pillars with a mysterious smile, before bringing her gaze back to Laurëlasse's green eyes. "It was good to see what beauty you have wrought upon this forest."

"It has taken much work. I am glad you approve," said Laurëlasse, aware of the trap she was being led in to.

Celebrían plucked a grape from its stem. "And yet, please tell us what beasts you house here in the forest. We saw black squirrels often. Is that common?"

Thranduil cut a bite of pheasant with his dagger and chewed it violently. Laurëlasse smiled tranquilly, hoping to disarm Celebrían. "Yes. Strange creatures, are they not?"

"Ah, but I see such numbers did not diminish your apple harvest," said Celebrían, motioning to the basket of crisp apples that adorned the center of the table. Inwardly, the Queen frowned. Why was Celebrían leading her away?

"No, for which I am grateful. Apples are my chosen fruit. How were your harvests?"

"Bountiful, thank Kementári. We brought in our crops with rejoicing, although frosts came early than expected. Winter has come early here as well."

Laurëlasse took a bite of cheese, buying time for a tactful reply. "Yes, I am afraid so, although it has not caused the pheasant to be overly lean, yes?"

Celebrían smiled, nodding her head in approval. So, she found a worthy opponent, thought Laurëlasse triumphantly. "No indeed. It is the most tender I have ever eaten."

The conversation drifted away into less dangerous subjects, as Elrond drew Thranduil into a conversation over the merits of trading with mortals.

"This is so different from Imladris," remarked Arwen bashfully, breaking off a piece of seedcake.

"How so?" asked Legolas.

Arwen paused for a moment. "Well, first the House is above the ground, and the architecture is much different. You see, your carvings are mostly reliefs, whereas we have pillars and statues and tapestries everywhere. Also, we have structures less closed in, carved so at different times of day they cast diverse shadows, depending on where the slant of the sunlight is…" She blushed, glancing sideways at Legolas "It sounds both strange and as beautiful as its inhabitants." he assured her warmly.

She laughed, said "Ah well, each to their own." and retreated back into silence.

Elrohir turned towards the pale-haired Princess that sat at his side. "What interest do you have then?"

Mallas smiled steelily at him. "Weaponry."

"An interesting pursuit," added Elladan from across the table.

Mallas suddenly appeared small in her chair, compared with the twins, but she was undaunted. "Yes, it is. What is your weapon of choice?" she asked, laying down her dagger and spoon.

Elladan paused. "The longsword, I believe, though I carry a secret affinity for the falchion."

Mallas leaned forward eagerly. "You must show me your ability to it."

Elladan looked towards his parents. "I would be delighted. Shall we go? And you shall show us your skill."

Suddenly Mallas sat back in her chair. "Soon," she deferred.

Thranduil shook his head towards his daughter. "No, no. Now indeed would be a prosperous time."


	24. Of War and Weapons

Chapter 23: Of War and Weapons

"The archery butts are over there," announced Legolas. "But we use these stakes to pin these ribbons too. See?"

Tied to the top of each stake was a slim ribbon that hung two feet down, fluttering in the lightest of the breezes.

The turf was soft under their feet as they stood in the northern training center, a wide, sprawling lawn with trees creeping around its outskirts.

Elladan eyed the scarlet strips. Mallas drew her knives from her girdle, at which Arwen spoke up.

"Carrying knives when accepting guests is a breaking of the Peace Oath."

Mallas looked at her with hot disdain. "I swore no oath, sweet Princess, and so am breaking none."

"The Peace Oath overarches all. It is expected to be kept, even if you had not explicitly vowed it." insisted the girl, her hair a cascade of molten jet.

There was a taut silence. Arwen did not yield. Mallas's eyes were pale blue, with all the warmth of chipped ice. "So, you have no weapons on your person?"

"None," answered Arwen firmly.

"Nor your brothers?"

"I do not speak for them." Her grey-eyed gaze did not shift from the Forest Daughter.

"Amin feuya ten' lle!" spat Mallas at last. "They hide, Legolas!" she said, turning to her brother. "And then they wonder at weapons!"

"Mallas, enough." His voice was stern as a young Elf could achieve.

She looked at him for a moment, hurt and anger warring in the depths of her blue eyes, and then she left the courtyard.


End file.
